This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Wednesday, August 6, 2014

The Gym (Blogophilia 24.7)

Slap. Slap. Slap. The sound of rubber against rubber was echoing
through an empty gym. The pale orange shoes were unusual. They had been bought
on a whim off of a clearance rack. They
quickly reached their rhythm and the breathing began to labor. Sweat poured
through the dark grey shirt and began to drip on to the running surface.

Two AM and Jeremy can’t sleep, too much energy from a too
productive day. He didn’t come here often, but it was open 24 hours a day. And
the few other desperate diehards in the place concentrated on their own
routines.

Exercise bored him. It was only useful for the times he
couldn’t stand still. It was used at the Hospital to fill time, or in his case,
as punishment for not following orders.The orderlies would have him do military drills over and over.Compliance to the drills was a matter of
rebellion for him. Sore and soaked with sweat, it would continue until he could
no longer stand. And the next day, the same things would happen. Bend but never break. The idiots never would learn that.

Beep! The heart shaped timer signaled the end of the session. As the
machine began to slow down, the thoughts became more focused. Most of the
supplies are in house or on order.Next
would be getting the farmhouse ready for testing.

Stepping off and wiping his brow, he looked toward the front
window. The combination of shear darkness and stark overhead lighting had
turned the glass into a fun-house mirror.Shrunken versions of himself looked back. It wouldn’t matter soon. The
path of his life never would be bigger.

Taking stock of what had been accomplished, he moved to the butterfly press. He had enough material to make about twenty devices. Enough where a few
could be tested out in the pasture at the Farm and still have plenty to
accomplish the goal. Adjusting the weights, he looked in
the mirror on the wall next to him. A perverse guardian angel smiled back at him,
confident in his abilities of mayhem. The grin got larger as the arms of
the machine began to come together. One...Two...Three...

Looking more an abandoned
warehouse rather than a hardware store, Smithson’s was packed floor to ceiling
with the detritus of years of operation. Snow sleds fought with garden netting
for space. Dusty shop tools sat forlornly in a corner, waiting for buyers that
would never come. Fertilizer and testosterone attacked his senses Keeping his head down, he went straight for plumbing. He grabbed a bunch of items, not really paying attention to any of them. Sections of pipe and end caps were
rung up by a bored young woman behind a tall counter.The name tag said “Candy” and asked if she
could help. Not really. She never looked up from her phone or spoke as she took
his money. He could have just walked out the door without paying for all she
cared.

Ace Hardware was more difficult, but also more productive. Like at Home Depot, there was a red-aproned troll to greet him. He spent the next fifteen minutes
talking about a bathroom he was renovating. He hardly took a breath.Pushing down the rage, Jeremy listened
carefully. There was a demonstration on how to thread and seal the
pipe for maximum performance.This was
important information, the better the seal, the better the blast.

Jeremy said he was
renovating the farmhouse. He would be taking the walls down to the studs and
completely redoing everything.The troll
smiled larger and started pulling out various sizes of pipe and supplies he
would need.When all was done, Jeremy
was loaded up with adhesives, flux and a tool guaranteed to cut through the
toughest plastic.The troll even asked
if he had thought about the fixtures, but he hadn’t. He said he would be back
for those when he was ready.

Downing a sandwich and some water after he got home, he
hopped back on the laptop to order the explosives.Three orders under three assumed names from
three different websites and all shipped to Mother’s house and scheduled for
Tuesday delivery.Was the package guy
was going to require signatures? If no one
was home, maybe they would just get dropped. That will be found out soon
enough. Only thing left was the triggers. There were several types to try. Maybe tomorrow.

When it was all done, it was all he could do to sit still.
So, he came here.

He finished his reps on and moved to arm press. Setting it
for 100lbs, he struggled as his arms extended. One more trip on the cardio circuit. The pain was exquisite. Pain is discipline.Discipline always wins.